


Pull Me Through

by Anonymous



Category: Foyle's War
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:34:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23367001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Ever since he’d started working with Foyle Paul had noticed how he got even quieter in the week leading up to the anniversary of his wife’s death. Now though they had more than just a professional relationship and he wasn't quite sure what to do
Relationships: Christopher Foyle/Paul Milner, Christopher Foyle/Rosalind Howard (mentioned)
Kudos: 16
Collections: Anonymous





	Pull Me Through

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crowgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/gifts), [Kivrin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kivrin/gifts), [elizajane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizajane/gifts).



> Once again inspired by the "Welcoming Silences" series by Crowgirl, elizajane and Kirvin

“Shall I stay here?”

Foyle went still, his face suddenly blank and Paul wished he could snatch the words back. He opened his mouth but Christopher spoke before he could, “If you like”

His voice was carefully even and Paul was once again struck by the thought that Christopher had come to resemble the first wash of a watercolour painting over the last few days. It was like the light had leached out of him and it broke Paul’s heart all the more because he wasn’t sure what to do about it. 

Ever since he’d started working with Foyle he’d noticed how he got even quieter in the week leading up to the anniversary of his wife’s death. The first year he’d been concerned that the other man had received bad news about Andrew but then Sam had mentioned the morning trip to the graveyard and the DCS’ silent grief had made sense. 

As they continued to work together Paul had done his best to help on and around the anniversary, working hard to make sure that the most irritating pieces of paperwork ended up on his desk and managing what he could at the station. 

When Superintendent Reid had still been at the station he had handled the constables but since he had been seconded to the war office that had fallen to Foyle and Paul did his best to ensure that he wasn’t bothered by petty station politics and aided and abetted by Sam and Sgt. Rivers he managed fairly well. Now though they had more than just a professional relationship and Paul wasn’t quite sure what to do. Foyle very rarely spoke of his late wife and when he did it was usually in reference to Andrew and how he took after his mother or occasionally a story of one of his childhood escapades. 

The rustle of fabric broke through Paul’s thoughts and he looked up to find Foyle straightening his overcoat and looking surprisingly small. He knew Christopher was shorter than him but the way he carried himself had always given him the extra inches that nature hadn’t. 

Now though grief had striped that away and Paul felt an almost overwhelming desire to protect him somehow, to be whatever it was that Christopher needed him to be in this moment. He cleared his throat, “What I meant was if you’d rather go alone I understand, I could get tea on or…”

“Come” 

How Christopher could infuse a single word with so much emotion Paul would never understand but there was an ocean of grief and pain in that single syllable and before his brain had time to catch up, he had stepped closer and taken Christopher’s hand, holding it tightly, “Of course I’ll come Christopher I just…I didn’t want to intrude…”

Christopher shook his head, looking down at their joined hands, “You aren’t” he glanced up just for a moment and then looked at his shoes again as he murmured, “I keep waiting for it to get easier…” 

He wasn’t sure how long they stood there in the front hall, his thumb running gently over Christopher’s knuckles but finally Christopher looked up and Paul felt tears gather in his own eyes at the grief and love that was laid bare in Christopher’s, but all Foyle said was, “You’ll need your coat”

Paul nodded and pulled it off the hook, reluctantly releasing Christopher’s hand so he could pull it on, careful not to break eye contact. He had no idea what his face must look like but after a long moment Christopher stepped forward and straightened the collar of his coat, resting his hand above Paul’s heart for several beats before he saying softly, “We should go”

They walked slowly to the church, stopping briefly at the florists so Christopher could purchase a small posy of forget-me-nots. When they reached the church Paul hesitated, nodding silently to the bench and Foyle shook his head, leaning ever so slightly into his side. 

Paul nodded and followed Christopher through the headstones, eyes down to be sure he didn’t slip on the damp grass, until they reached Rosalind’s grave. It was a simple headstone, giving her name and dates of birth and death, and Paul couldn’t help but shiver at the knowledge that she had died so young, that Christopher had been on his own for so long. 

Foyle looked at him, silently asking if he were alright and Paul nodded, moving just a little closer so their shoulders nearly touched. They stood there until the drizzle had turned to rain, the damp seeping into Paul’s prosthetic and through the rest of him until he was chilled to the bone, and then Christopher finally stepped forward and placed the flowers, one finger tenderly tracing his wife’s name before he turned and started back towards the church. 

Paul followed a little slower, leg stiff from standing still for so long, and for once Christopher didn’t seem to notice. When they reached the path again Paul nodded towards the chapel, “Did you want to…?” Foyle shook his head, eyes down, “Home then?” a silent nod and they set off.

The walk eased Paul’s leg but he couldn’t help but glance worriedly at Christopher, he still looked so much older, so shattered by the grief of what he had lost over a decade ago. It wasn’t until Paul had fixed them some tea and they were sitting in front of the fire that Christopher had lit that he spoke, his voice low and sincere, “Thank you Paul”

Paul blinked, not quite sure how to unwrap everything that was being said with those 3 small words. “I…” He took a sip of tea and then said softly, “You can speak of her you know, if it would help, it won’t upset me.”

Christopher looked surprised and Paul hurried on, “I don’t ask because I don’t want to hurt you but I know you loved her Christopher, that you always will in certain ways and I’ll never begrudge you that.”

There was a long pause and then Christopher spoke, his eyes bright with unshed tears, “When she died…those first few months…” he closed his eyes, time ticking by marked only by the sound of the mantle clock and the crackle of the fire. “I wanted too as well…” 

The words looked like they were as painful for Christopher to say as they were for Paul to hear but he kept talking, his voice raw in a way Paul had never heard it, “I didn't know how to raise our son alone and… I missed her… so very much…” Two tears tracked down his cheeks and Paul placed his teacup down with trembling hands and got to his feet, taking Christopher’s hand pulling him up and into his arms, holding him close as he began to cry. 

Christopher made no effort to conceal his sobs and Paul couldn’t help but feel a little proud that he trusted him enough to show him the true depth of his grief. He ran his fingers gently through the curls at the base of Christopher’s skull, humming half words into his hair and wishing he knew better how to heal a wound that ran this deep. 

Finally Christopher drew back and although his eyes were red from crying they were no longer quite so dull. He studied Paul for a long moment and then leaned up to kiss him tenderly, “Thank you” 

Paul cupped his cheek gently and then kissed him back, trying to express everything he didn’t know how to frame into words. By the look on Christopher’s face when he drew back he’d been successful and Paul gently wiped away a lingering tear with his thumb, “Tea?”

Foyle nodded and collecting their now cold cups of tea they headed to the kitchen. Paul didn’t know how to describe it but he felt like something had changed, as if a wall he hadn’t even known existed between them had fallen. 

The rest of the day passed quietly and by Monday Christopher was himself again. Over the next few weeks though Paul noticed that he mentioned Rosalind more often, not in a way that suggested intent but rather that she would come up naturally in stories; how she’d chosen the wallpaper for the living room or how she used to get wretched headaches that reminded Foyle of Andrew’s sinusitis. 

When Paul found himself making a nice meal for Rosalind’s birthday he wondered briefly if it ought to be odd, if he shouldn’t be as comfortable as he was with the fact that Christopher was still very much in love with his wife. He knew some people killed for far less, but the truth was he didn’t mind at all. 

He had fallen in love with Christopher as he was; not the young man with dark hair and a shy smile that stood beside his wife in their wedding photo, but the man who had been shaped and changed by their marriage and his grief. Besides it wasn’t as if he hadn’t brought his own baggage to their relationship. Losing his leg had been enough to shatter his already strained marriage and there were still days when he found himself wondering what he might have done differently, if anything, to make Jane love him. 

So how could he begrudge Christopher the memories of his own happy marriage, of the woman he had adored and raised a child with? It would be the worst type of hypocrisy and Paul shook his head sharply and turned back to the potatoes. Christopher had gone with Andrew to Rosalind’s grave and they would be back soon and he wanted to have supper on the table.


End file.
